


don't want to be an angel

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [149]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angel Cora, Angel Healing, Established Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, F/F, Hunter Allison, Mild Blood, Minor Injuries, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship, Tumblr Prompt, hunter lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 03:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12832371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: "You need to be more careful."Allison doesn't think she'lleverget used to the sound of Cora's slightly raspy voice appearing out of thin air.





	don't want to be an angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aweekofsaturdays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/gifts).



> written for the prompt "Allison + tending an injury." a long time ago, I was planning on totally rewriting seasons 3-5 of SPN with Allison & Lydia as the hunters and Cora as an angel. that's never going to happen, but this prompt reminded me of that idea, and I couldn't help but write something for it. so here's this!
> 
> title borrowed from the translated lyrics of the song [Engel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2rQzv8OWEY) by Rammstein.

"You need to be more careful." 

Allison doesn't think she'll _ever_ get used to the sound of Cora's slightly raspy voice appearing out of thin air. She jumps and whips around, hip bumping into the sink, hissing as her right arm, which is dislocated and littered in half a dozen cuts of varying depths, sways loosely at her side. 

"Didn't we tell you to warn us before you did that?" she responds, leaning back against the sink, hoping that her face isn't showing the amount of pain she's in. 

"Next time, I'll knock first," Cora says and, like always, it's impossible to tell if she's being morbidly serious or completely sarcastic. She's wearing the same clothes she's been wearing in every encounter they've had; dark jeans, motorcycle boots, a leather jacket and a distressed shirt with an eighties metal band logo on it. Her hair is fully pulled back in a ponytail, and there are bags underneath her brown eyes.

Not for the first time, Allison wonders what kind of person Cora's vessel was before Cora inhabited her. 

"It was a wendigo, if you're wondering," Allison says, gesturing to her arm with her uninjured hand. "We didn't realize there were two of them." It was an oversight, one they really should have caught before they descended into the wendigo's abandoned coal mine lair, but there's no point in pondering what-ifs now. The two of them made it out mostly intact, and they put the bastards down before they could rip any more people to shreds, and that's what matters. 

A dislocated shoulder is a small price to pay. 

"Is Lydia injured?"

"A little. She'll need some stitches. She's gone to grab more bandages." Cora nods and steps into the bathroom. Her eyes seem to glimmer slightly in the florescent light, hint at the infinite power filling her vessel. A frown settles onto her mouth, and she cocks her head to the side as she stares at the cuts marking up Allison's arm. Most of them are fairly minor, but blood is still oozing from two, slowly coursing down her arm to her fingertips. Drops of it are smeared inside the sink and on the floor, dotting the faded tiles. 

They were ugly tiles anyways. So far as Allison is concerned, the blood is an improvement.

"It's worse than it looks," Allison says, attempting to shrug with one shoulder. "Honestly. It's really not that bad." 

"But you're still in pain." Cora's frown grows as she steps closer. The bathroom is so small that it only takes one more step for her feet to touch Allison's. There's no question in her tone, and Allison doesn't bother trying to deny it; she _is_ in pain, despite the pills she popped when they got back, and lying to an angel is as useless as trying to kill a vampire with garlic alone. 

"I'll be fine," she says instead which, _technically_ , is not a lie. A dislocated shoulder is not the end of the world, and it's far from the worst thing that she's ever had to live with for a few hours. 

(That prestigious award goes to 'being buried alive'.)

Cora's jaw suddenly clenches, and she takes another step, forcing Allison to lean up onto her tiptoes until she's nearly sitting in the sink. 

"That's the _problem_ ," Cora says, fingers curling around the edge of the sink, which creaks ominously. Her eyes are _definitely_ glimmering now. "The problem with both of you. You both think that you'll be fine, that you can survive anything. But you can't." 

"Not all of us can be angels," Allison retorts. "Some of us just have to go out there and hope for the best." Cora continues to stare at her, not blinking, arms caging Allison in. There's no point in trying to move; Allison has only punched Cora in the face once, the first time they met, and she'd ended up with four broken fingers, while Cora hadn't moved an inch. 

Eventually, after a frankly uncomfortable amount of time has passed, Cora's face softens slightly, and she takes a single step backwards. It's not much, but it at least makes Allison feel like she can actually breathe again. 

"Even if I had the power to make it happen," Cora says, "I wouldn't want the two of you to be angels." 

It's far from being a resounding critique of the heavenly host, but considering that there was a time not so long ago where Allison is fairly certain that Cora would have ripped out her own grace before she spoke ill of heaven, it's _definitely_ progress. 

"Don't worry," Allison replies as more blood drips from the ends of her fingers. "I don't think either of us ever plan to ask that of you." 

"I know." Cora leans in closer and raises one hand, cautiously extends it until it's hovering just above Allison's forehead. She pauses there for a moment before she closes the space and carefully, like she's touching a spooked animal, pushes a piece of sweaty hair away from Allison's forehead. With that done, she drops her hand back to her side. "Try to be more careful. Both of you." 

"Yeah, sure," Allison mutters, turning to look at where her arm is unnaturally sagging against her side. "I'll-"

When she looks up, Cora's gone. 

"A goodbye would be nice," she mutters to herself as she turns back towards the mirror and reaches for a washcloth. 

That's when she realizes that, while there's still blood staining her arm, the cuts are gone, and her arm is back in its proper place, flush against the socket. Carefully, she raises her arm, curls her fingers tightly into her palm, makes a few quick jabs at the general direction of the mirror. 

The pain is completely and utterly gone.

With a sigh, she grabs the washcloth, wets it, and wipes most of the blood off her arm. She's just finishing up when she hears keys in the door, and she hangs the cloth over the towel rack before she steps into the hideously decorated main room. 

"Sorry," Lydia says, dropping a bag onto the table beside the door. "It took longer than I thought to find a pharmacy. How's your arm?" 

In response, Allison pulls a ring dagger caked with wendigo blood from the sheath at her side and twirls it, stepping back into fighting stance with both of her arms raised. 

"Cora?" Lydia asks. Allison nods, returns the dagger to its sheath and drops onto the bed, which somehow manages to smell overpoweringly of laundry detergent and dust simultaneously. 

"You just missed her." 

"Guess she only had enough energy to heal one of us," Lydia says, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice as she reaches for the hem of her shirt. "Can you stitch me up?" Once her shirt hits the floor, Allison leans up on her elbows, eyes meaning to track the gashes on Lydia's chest so she can determine how many stitches she'll need. 

Except while the blood remains, the actual wounds are gone. 

"Looks like Cora visited you after all," she answers. Lydia pauses, hands still in mid-rummage through the bag she brought back with her, and she drops her head to look at her chest. After a moment, she just laughs quietly and crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"I don't understand her," she murmurs, lying back and rolling onto her side, tucking herself against Allison's side. "Every time I think that she hates us, she does something like this." 

"Yeah," Allison says, sliding her arm under Lydia's head, thinking back to the moment in the bathroom when Cora had delicately brushed her hair away from her forehead. "I don't understand her either." 

She doubts that they ever will. 

Damn angels.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
